Nocturne
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: Not even the most powerful enchantment was enough to prevent a resurrected soul from remembering a love that was stronger than death itself. Instead, it gave him the freedom to act upon his passions in ways that had never been possible in life. Set during Episode 4x09.
1. Part I: His Mistress

**Part I: His Mistress**

The life within Lancelot had departed like a whisper when the blackness of the veil had closed in around him. A languid drowsiness had gently stolen the strength from his limbs, persuasively urging his eyes to close, and then he'd known no more. Perhaps it had been due to the fact that he'd chosen his fate willingly, but death had been quick and painless, surprisingly gentle compared with the end he'd always expected for himself.

When awareness returned, however, it was something else entirely. Gone were tender thoughts of the people he'd saved through his sacrifice, beloved, familiar faces that had comforted him as he'd drawn his last breath and found his eternal rest.

No, dying had been the easy part, warm and soothing. Coming back to life was quite the opposite; a gasp of shock as the frigid water stabbed his reawakened flesh like a thousand tiny swords, inhaling by pure, raw instinct, only to choke when his mouth filled with thick, foul tasting mud, rather than the air his body desperately craved.

There was light from above, muted rays of sunlight that barely penetrated the murky depths, but he understood. He must rise, and quickly... why, he did not know, but he must rise.

He kicked off from the bottom, awkwardly at first, as his stiff muscles gradually came back to life. Then up, up, up he swam, his oxygen starved lungs burning with agony as he fought his way to the surface.

She called to him softly from the recesses of his blank mind, already beckoning him to her as he lifted his head above the water and remembered what it was to breathe again. Calling, calling, and he began to move in the direction from whence her voice had come, knowing she would be there before his eyes ever fell upon her black clad figure in the distance.

He knew so many things, without quite understanding how the knowledge had come to him. The words that formed his thoughts made complete sense, although he couldn't recall how he'd learned them, or if they'd ever fallen from his lips in the past. _Did_ he have a past?

It didn't matter, for the only certainty that drove him was the one that compelled him to open his mouth and acknowledge the woman he felt a burning, overwhelming desire to serve.

"My name is Lancelot, my lady," he murmured softly, giving her a respectful bow. "I am yours to command."

She didn't speak at first, just smiled to herself as her eyes traveled slowly down his naked chest. _Come out of the water,_ he felt her beckon silently, as she turned and made her way to shore. _Come out, we have work to do..._

Lancelot followed at her heels without hesitation, as if he were bound to her by invisible shackles that left him with no possible alternative. But unlike a prisoner who was chained against his will, he trailed after her retreating figure eagerly, his entire awareness wrapped up in a burning desire to serve his new mistress, to please her, to do everything possible to bring her satisfaction. He was hers and hers alone; that was all he needed to know.

She faced him again when they reached solid ground, suddenly reaching out to wrap a warm hand around his cold, damp fingers. There was a flurry of words he didn't understand, followed by a brilliant flash of gold in her green eyes, and then the world was spinning, turning, whirling past his bewildered gaze so swiftly that he could distinguish nothing beyond splashes of color and the frigid wind that chilled his naked flesh.

And then it was over. He was standing before her in a dimly lit dwelling, shivering, hungry, exhausted beyond all comprehension, but it never occurred to him to give voice to these needs. All Lancelot knew was that he must wait for her command.

"Sir Lancelot," she said softly as she circled around him. "Once known to one and all as a matchless warrior. I wonder what other skills he possessed in life?"

He wanted to answer her, for no other reason than the simple desire to never leave her wanting for anything. His eyes drifted shut as he struggled, searching in vain through the recesses of his blank mind for some clue about his former identity. The blackness shifted a little, punctuated by the briefest flashes of sound and color, but there was no logic to the mishmash of scattered images that fluttered by. And when he opened his eyes again, they had vanished.

Morgana seemed to sense his inner battle. "No matter," she said with a smile. "Don't try to remember. From what I understand, it's impossible for one such as yourself. I will teach you all you need to know."

Lancelot bowed his head submissively as he waited for her to continue.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Without thought, he stepped forward and pressed his lips against hers. There was something pleasant about the sensation, strangely familiar, yet foreign at the same time. It was as if he'd done this before, many times, but the taste and the feeling were not the same as the faint echo that pricked at the back of his mind, recalling something sweeter, more gentle than the mouth that connected with his forcefully, the probing tongue that roughly demanded entrance.

But still, he granted it gladly, immediately taking control when he sensed that was what she wanted. It was exciting, pleasurable, sending waves of heat through his shivering body as she quietly murmured her approval and pressed herself closer.

"Touch me," she commanded in a husky voice. "Take my clothes off and touch me."

Eagerly, his fingers drifted down to the ties of her dress, clumsy in their haste both to please her and to discover what other pleasures lay in store for himself. He wanted something... something he didn't understand, something he could not name. But suddenly, he wanted it far more than he could imagine wanting _anything_.

But Morgana pushed his hands aside and stepped away, fixing him with a chastising look that filled him with a deep sense of shame, though he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

"Not like that," she said shortly. "Slowly, Lancelot. Gently. You are not a beast, but a man who was surely a capable lover in his prime. I need you to play the part. Now try again."

And so he swallowed his own desire, sliding the dress from her body by inches, his fingers trailing across each expanse of newly exposed skin with a soft, lingering touch. Images flickered briefly in his mind again, the faintest memory of not _doing_ this, exactly, but _wanting_ to... some barely remembered dream about trailing his lips down a different neck, across another collarbone, then back up to steal a kiss as he lifted her in his arms.

Morgana gasped in surprise when he picked her up and carried her to the bed, but she did not protest. She lay on her back, dark curls spilling wildly across the pillow, her green eyes studying him speculatively as he devoured the sight of her naked body, from the pale, rose tipped breasts, to the flat stomach and the gentle curves of her hips. His gaze lingered hungrily upon the dark thatch of hair between her slender thighs, before he finally stretched out beside her and ran his hands over all the places he longed to touch.

"Very good," she murmured breathlessly, as he dipped his head to take a taut nipple in his mouth. "You're doing well."

It was all instinct from there... instinct, combined with traces of past fantasies that told him what to do. He shut his eyes, envisioning a fuller breast, a flash of tawny skin flashing behind his tightly closed lids, as he gently suckled and teased with his tongue, drawing back just a little to allow his hot breath to caress the sensitive skin before switching to the other.

Morgana shivered, her lips parting in a soft murmur of approval as she threaded her fingers in his hair and pushed him down.

This, too, Lancelot understood, though he wasn't quite sure how or why. He was meant to touch her in that hidden place, the place that called to him in a language without words, begging for his hands, his lips, his seeking tongue...

He caressed her gently as he knelt between her legs, groaning aloud at the persistent, throbbing need that pulsed through the hard length that rested against his own thighs, a craving that swiftly grew unbearable as he penetrated her with his fingers and began to thrust with motions that were instinctually familiar to him. So soft, so warm, and in a blinding flash, he understood exactly what he was supposed to do.

But Morgana would not allow it. "Not yet," she said sharply when he reached down and wrapped a hand around himself, eager to guide it to the place it was obviously supposed to go. "Be patient, Lancelot. You'll know when I'm ready."

Lancelot wanted to ask, "How?"

He didn't want to seem disobedient, however, and so he waited, the motions of his hands and mouth becoming more and more effective as he concentrated on what seemed to elicit the most noticeable sounds of pleasure from her lips. She was building to something; he wasn't sure what it was, but her moans were growing louder, her soft thighs trembling around him, and he desperately wanted her to reach it. He sped up the movements, fingers aching, tongue cramping, not that he cared in either case, and then...

Morgana let loose a loud, shuddering cry, her back arching violently, before she collapsed panting against the pillows. Lancelot looked up to find her staring down at him with heavy lidded eyes, and he _knew_...

He grasped himself again and rose to kneel between her legs, meeting not a whisper of protest as he pushed his way inside.

It felt so indescribably good, being enveloped in that warm, wet heat... far better than any sensation he could possibly imagine. Lancelot groaned with pleasure, ravaging her mouth with a deep, hungry kiss that came more from instinct than conscious choice as his hips began to move. He wanted... oh, he _wanted_...

"Slow down, Lancelot," she said again, the sternness in her voice barely noticeable in the breathless words. "You must pace yourself."

Urgent desire rejected the command, and yet, her will was still stronger than the pressing need of his aching body. With a great deal of effort, Lancelot brought his hard, frantic pace under control, switching to a succession of slow, deep thrusts that caused Morgana to whimper in approval as her hands trailed restlessly up and down his back.

Lancelot buried his face in the curve of her neck, closing his eyes again as he lost himself in the rhythm of the movements, suddenly remembering another time, another life where he'd imagined doing this very thing to a woman with fathomless dark eyes and soft, tawny skin.

Traces of the fantasy lingered longer this time... the slow build he'd once envisioned in his mind coming to him quite naturally as he thrust a little faster, just a little harder with every movement of his hips. He remembered... oh, the words flashed across his mind, words he'd once dreamed of whispering into a different ear as he sought to give her everything... everything she could possibly want, and more.

No, Lancelot could not speak to Morgana of loving devotion. He knew that somehow, but the other words that flitted across his memory came easily... whispers of her incomparable beauty, how amazing she felt, how much he wanted her, needed her, how he couldn't possibly get enough of the pleasure she gave him.

She shivered as he murmured in her ear, making soft, hungry noises as her hands clawed more and more urgently at his straining shoulders, her sharp fingernails biting into his flesh as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Harder," she gasped breathlessly, as her heels dug into his backside to further emphasize the point. "More!"

Another fleeting thought danced across his mind, causing him to abruptly withdraw. Before Morgana's whimper of outrage had the chance to turn into words of censure, however, he'd flipped her roughly onto her stomach and dragged her up by the hips, swiftly positioning himself, then slamming into her with all the force he could muster.

It happened again, the uncontrollable cry of pleasure, but it was more like a scream this time, as he felt her body tighten and pulse around his aching length. She went limp again, her eyes tightly closed, her face glistening with sweat in the dim candlelight as she panted and struggled for control in the aftermath.

Lancelot didn't give her a chance to recover. There was nothing anymore, no fleeting images of the tenderness he'd once desired to give to another woman to hold himself in check. He stared down at Morgana's trembling body with burning, lust filled eyes as pure, mindless hunger overtook his senses, his fingers digging into her hips with a bruising grip as he pounded into her with a jarring intensity that had her hands scrabbling for the bed rails in order to steady herself.

And then he was leaning over her, grabbing a fistful of hair and jerking her head back to sink his teeth into her soft neck, immediately gratified by the sharp cry of mingled pleasure and pain that echoed off the walls in response.

"Do it again," he demanded in a harsh whisper. He was close, so close to it... that _thing_ he wanted... that _need_ that made it feel as if he might die a second time if it were not fulfilled. But before that, he wanted to hear it one more time... that ragged cry that meant he'd driven her beyond all control. Once more, he wanted to feel her heat close in around him, pulsing with waves of almost unbearable pleasure that he now recognized and wanted for himself.

It happened on command, both the words and the relentless thrust that accompanied them combining to drive Morgana over the edge. She cried out in helpless abandon, her voice trailing off into a ragged sob as her body shuddered around him. Her strength gave out as the climax washed over her... she started to collapse, but no, he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Gripping her hips more tightly to hold her in place, Lancelot pounded into her furiously; once, twice, a third time, and then he was groaning, grunting, releasing himself into her with a series of violent spasms that nearly made him weep from the indescribable pleasure.

And then he collapsed on the bed beside her, his body drenched with sweat as he closed his eyes and panted in the darkness. For a few minutes, there was no sound but their mingled breathing, harsh and unsteady at first, then settling down into a calm, quiet rhythm.

Lancelot soon grew drowsy, not quite understanding what it meant, but craving the peaceful blackness that beckoned him forward. _Sleep_, that's what it was. He needed to sleep.

But just as he'd started to drift off, Morgana sat up and persistently shook his shoulder until he opened his eyes and fixed her with a bleary, unfocused stare.

"Not yet," she said, looking just a little too pleased at his noticeable discomfort. "There are more important things than sleep just now. You've passed one test, but there are many more before your purpose can be fulfilled."

The compulsion instantly took over again, forcing Lancelot to drag his exhausted body from the bed and follow her across the room. "Of course," he said automatically, watching with no real interest as she rummaged in a cabinet and withdrew several items of clothing. "I am yours to command."

As she peeked back at him over one shoulder, a cruel glint in her deep green eyes, Lancelot had the fleeting impression that if he'd possessed the ability to hate her in that moment, he probably would have.


	2. Part II: His Preparation

**Part II: His Preparation**

"Tell me again, Lancelot. Give me names and descriptions for each of Arthur's most trusted knights."

His brow furrowed in concentration. "Gwaine... dark hair, a bit impulsive, likes to go to the tavern a lot. Elyan... he's Gwen's brother, a quiet man with dark skin. Percival... he's the only noble knight and has been with Arthur the longest, and..."

"_No_, Lancelot!"

Lancelot felt a rush of disappointment as his mistress shot him an angry glare. "Forgive me, my lady. That is Leon I speak of. Percival is the knight I brought to Camelot with me when I returned from my long exile."

Morgana's face softened. "Yes, that's better. You almost have it now. Let's go over everything again."

For the next couple of hours, Lancelot woodenly recited names and locations, bits of history and random personality quirks, all the details he'd known by heart in his previous life. He'd long since passed the point of exhaustion; it was all he could do just to keep his eyes open by the time Morgana finally seemed satisfied.

"Get yourself some food and lie down for a while. You'll need your strength in the days to come."

As Lancelot hungrily devoured two bowls of thick, hot stew, he wondered if he'd enjoyed eating so much during his previous life. He was overcome with a hollow sense of loss every time he rediscovered one of these little luxuries - the rich flavor of meat upon his tongue, the softness of the blanket he instinctively pulled over himself as he crawled into bed.

Despite Morgana's numerous explanations as to why he'd chosen to sacrifice himself, it just didn't make sense that he'd willingly leave such pleasant things behind.

That feeling assaulted him even more strongly when he awoke a few hours later to find Morgana lying next to him, completely naked beneath the covers. She didn't instruct him this time, only moaned in encouragement as he pleasured her with his hands and mouth again, then roughly jerked her up on hands and knees to drive into her from behind as he'd done the day before. That was how he liked it best; it was much easier to grasp at the faint flickers of a different and somehow more appealing face when he didn't have to open his eyes to the sight of Morgana's features as he strained for release.

He collapsed on his back as soon as he'd spent himself, eyelids drooping sleepily as he relished the sensation of cool air drifting over his sweat drenched body. He was only dimly aware of Morgana as she rose and dressed, though he automatically snapped back to attention when she spoke.

"As much as I enjoy being taken that way, you might endeavor to be a little more gentle when you lie with Gwen. More romantic, yes? I don't imagine the noble Sir Lancelot would choose to pleasure the woman he loved as if he were a dog mounting a bitch in heat."

"Of course, my lady. As you command."

Morgana nodded. "Now get dressed. Agravaine will be arriving shortly, and it won't do to make him aware of your... carnal services to me. He does my bidding well enough, but he has an unfortunate jealous streak I'd rather not deal with at the moment."

"Yes, my lady."

Lancelot swiftly pulled on his clothing, then faced Morgana expectantly as he awaited his next command. Instead of giving him another order, however, she only studied him with a curiously soft expression on her face. "Lancelot," she murmured half to herself. "Really, it's such a waste what happened to you. So strong... so handsome and eager to please. It isn't only the thrall you're under now either. You were that way in life; yes, you would've done anything for those you loved, something you proved time and time again. They didn't deserve your loyalty... and while I'm sure you'll never fully realize it, this is your revenge as much as mine."

Not knowing what to say, Lancelot simply nodded in agreement. Her words filled him with some strange emotion he could not name; it was the same way he'd felt the previous day when she'd talked about his nobility, his bravery and sense of honor. It took quite a bit of confusion to figure out what he was feeling, before he finally realized what it was. He _liked_ it.

Yes, he wanted to be someone exceptional who'd find himself deserving of such praise. It seemed right somehow, though whether that was some faint recollection of enjoying that privilege in his previous life, or simply the fact that being brave and good was the right thing to do, he didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter; after all, it was his duty to serve his mistress, not his own desire.

"Gwen should've chosen you. I truly believe she would have been happier, and maybe we could've still..." she trailed off and her face hardened. "Well, there's no use dwelling upon it. It's in her nature to betray the people she loves, it seems. All we can do now is try and set things right."

"As you command, my lady."

Morgana nodded. "Go ahead and rest a little more. We'll go over everything a final time before you set forth for Camelot this evening."

* * *

"Come, Lancelot, and be quiet about it. We mustn't risk discovery before the moment is right."

Lancelot obediently followed the man named Agravaine, finding it surprisingly easy to slip through the darkened passageways without making a sound. He wondered idly if this had been another one of his talents - the ability to move on swift, silent feet when it was necessary to do so. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he'd been a man possessed of many unusual skills in his previous life.

"You know what to do?" Agravaine said abruptly when they reached an alcove hidden deep within the bowels of the castle. "Repeat it to me."

"I am to rise and sneak out of here just before sunrise and report to the tournament grounds. I am to enter the tent you pointed out to me on our way here and don the armor that has been left for me. And then I am to wait until I hear the signal and ride out to take my turn with the lance."

"This should prove entertaining. Do you even know what a lance _is_ anymore, much less how to handle one?"

Agravaine smirked at him as he spoke, and Lancelot was surprised to feel the faint stirrings of an emotion it took him a moment to identify as annoyance. He immediately chided himself for the reaction, reminding himself that as long as Morgana insisted upon it, Agravaine must be obeyed without question.

Still, he couldn't help wishing he were directly under her command again; Morgana might be harsh at times, but she also seemed to trust in his capabilities in ways that Agravaine did not.

Why that should matter, Lancelot didn't know... but it did.

* * *

The armor was a strangely heavy weight on his shoulders, the long wooden shaft foreign as he gripped it in one hand. Lancelot waited anxiously throughout the morning, feeling a little ill when the fanfare sounded to indicate that it was time to take the field. What if he failed to fulfill the command he'd been given? What if he exposed himself as a fraud, bringing shame or even danger upon his mistress?

But when he mounted the horse, _his_ horse in his previous life according to what he'd been told, a fragment of memory flickered in his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled a different lance held tightly in one fist on a foggy night, his mount gathering strength beneath him, a brilliant flash of blue as he charged forward to face... he couldn't remember anything else, but that same feeling of urgency overpowered his senses as he raced across the sunny field.

And then it came to him as naturally as breathing as he narrowed his eyes and focused on his target, his lance sliding effortlessly through the tiny wreath of flowers.

The crowd broke into wild cheers, distracting him for a moment as he basked in the unexpected approval. It took a bit of effort to remember what he was supposed to do next... greet the king? No, no... he was expected to ride over to the woman seated next to Agravaine and present her with the flowers as a token of his respect.

She was little more than a blur of lavender fabric, until he drew closer and slowly removed his helmet. But as soon as he did, he knew her at first glance... not because he'd been given her description, nor due to the fact that he'd been carefully instructed upon exactly where to find her when the time came.

He _knew_ her.

A rush of emotion knocked the breath right out of him, feelings so intense they were almost frightening. That face... those were the features which had been hovering around the edges of his blank mind ever since he'd returned to life, hazy and faint as his subconscious had struggled to form them into something substantial. Gwen... yes, he knew those eyes, that skin, that body... there wasn't a single solid memory in his head to confirm this, but he _knew_.

Whispers of a voice he couldn't recall ever hearing danced in and out of his swirling thoughts, and Lancelot felt that it was hers. What was she saying? The words were too soft to hear, only the faintest echo of past memories he desperately wanted to understand. He continued to gaze up at her with the desperate hope that remaining in her presence would soothe his confusion, somehow providing the answers to questions he had no idea how to ask.

But then Morgana intruded upon his bewildered musings, demanding that he go and find the king in order to explain his sudden reappearance.

When he instantly turned and rode off to fulfill the command, Lancelot felt a sharp stab of resentment for the mistress who had the power to steal him away in the middle of such an intriguing moment. It was no more than the briefest flash of anger, gone before he could even acknowledge it properly, but it was enough to leave him with that same feeling of loss he was gradually beginning to despise.

And as his eyes passed over the gathered crowd while he sought out the king, people that were full of life and laughter and free to come and go as they pleased, he remembered what it was to experience another unpleasant emotion he'd long since forgotten.

Envy.


	3. Part III: His Longing

**Part III: His Longing**

Arthur and Merlin stared at Lancelot in utter silence, mouths working furiously as they struggled to find the words to express their shock at his apparent return from the dead. Uncertain as to what he should do, the former knight gave them a respectful nod, then set about the business of removing his heavy armor.

It was Merlin who finally reached out to trace the faint silvery scar on the back of his left hand. "It really is you."

"It is," he responded softly.

And then Arthur spoke, his voice gruff with some emotion Lancelot couldn't identify. "I never stopped blaming myself for... for what you did. I..."

"It was no more than my duty, sire," he interjected smoothly. "I made a vow to defend this kingdom with my life. And I would do the same without hesitation, even if I knew there was no fortunate twist of fate waiting to pull me back from the other side."

Arthur broke into a smile as he pulled Lancelot into a spontaneous embrace. "You haven't changed at all, my friend. Not since the first time I ever met you. I can't believe... well, I guess you're no stranger to accomplishing the impossible. Remember the Gryphon? You never did tell me how you managed to take it down, when the rest of us failed to do so."

Lancelot swallowed hard, frantically searching his mind for any reference to the event in question. He came up blank. "Sire, I..."

"Ah, here's our long-lost hero!" Agravaine pronounced grandly as he poked his head into the tent. "I hate to interrupt this happy reunion, but dinner awaits. I'm sure Sir Lancelot must be hungry after his exertions, and what must have been quite a long journey. Shall we?"

Lancelot's momentary relief was overshadowed by the silent warning in Agravaine's cold dark eyes.

"Of course, Uncle," Arthur agreed cheerfully. "Come on, Merlin, I need to get cleaned up."

Agravaine accompanied Lancelot during the walk back to the palace, guiding him along with what seemed like an unnecessarily rough hand on his elbow while hissing a few final instructions. Morgana's instructions, he reminded Lancelot tersely, with the unspoken promise of all manners of dire retribution if he should fail.

"Do you remember the story as to how you survived?"

"Of course," Lancelot replied automatically.

"Who found you?"

"The Mahjabi people."

_Mudhabi! Mudhabi, Lancelot!"_

"Forgive me," he said meekly, swallowing a twinge of annoyance. "Mudhabi."

Agravaine shot him a resentful look. "I don't know what Morgana was thinking with this harebrained plan of hers. It's practically doomed to failure. If you can't even remember the simplest details..."

"I can't remember what I once was," Lancelot told him defensively, withdrawing his arm from the other man's painful grasp. "But I am not a fool. Not now, and I'm quite certain I wasn't in my previous life either. I don't intend to give my mistress any cause for complaint."

There was a definite edge of nervousness in Agravaine's expression, though he made no further comment as he opened the double doors and ushered Lancelot before him into the hall where the others were already gathered around a long table piled high with what must've been some of the most appetizing dishes in existence.

Food... yes, Lancelot was famished. That seemed to happen a lot.

But his attention was immediately drawn from the waiting meal as one by one, the loved ones from his previous life rose to their feet and applauded his arrival.

"Thank you," he said shyly as Agravaine guided him to a chair at the head of the table. "But there's really no need for..." He scanned the faces around him, feeling warmth spread through his body in response to the happy smiles. These were the people Morgana wished to destroy? Somehow, it didn't make sense... they were so kind, so accepting as they each expressed their joy at his unexpected return. And there they were again, the faintest flickerings of a life forgotten, not clear enough to solidify into actual memories, but a feeling of acceptance, of belonging which had once been his by right.

A tiny voice within him protested that he didn't want to do this, didn't want to lie to these people who looked at him with such respect and admiration. He wanted... well, he didn't know what it was exactly, but not this.

But there was no choice in the matter, after all, and so he performed his role flawlessly, treating the others to a benign smile as he described the way the Mudhabis had found him and nursed him back to health, then sent him forth on his journey back to Camelot.

"You made your way home," Arthur finished for him, and Lancelot had to swallow hard past the lump in his throat as he studied the king's honest blue eyes. Home... yes, when he'd had a choice in his own destiny, it made complete sense why he would've chosen to spend his life in such admirable company.

And yet there was a twinge of something darker as Arthur reached out and placed his hand over Gwen's, the abrupt feeling that the life he'd left behind hadn't been quite as idyllic as it seemed. That touch... it just seemed _wrong_ somehow, as if Arthur had stolen something that wasn't really his to claim.

Morgana had said Gwen loved Lancelot before she'd ever come to be with Arthur. Had they both betrayed him? But if that were the case, why did they seem so comfortable with his presence now? Brave, noble, honorable... all those qualities Morgana had attributed to him in his previous life; had he somehow found it in his heart to forgive Gwen for turning to another man? Or was there another reason neither of them seemed to expect him to be offended by the gesture?

Stubbornly, Lancelot pushed his confusion to the back of his mind as Arthur continued to speak.

"We can't thank you enough for what you sacrificed on the Isle of the Blessed. It will be remembered always."

"It is indeed good to see you once again," he responded, repeating the words Morgana had urged him to memorize only two days before. "I would like to propose a toast. To the people I hold most dear. To Camelot."

And it hurt to say such things, because they believed him... and he desperately wished the sentiment was sincere. But the hard, cold reality of this new existence was that he couldn't recall what it felt like to love another person in truth. The sheer isolation that came along with that realization hit him like a lance to the gut, the vaguest twinges of memory falling through his fingers like raindrops that were impossible to capture and hold onto. It wasn't enough to know that he'd cared for these people in his previous life... he wanted to feel that way again, to be flooded with emotions he didn't understand, yet keenly felt the absence of nonetheless.

"To Camelot," the others echoed back at him.

* * *

His first instinct was to follow Gwen as she departed the chamber, compelled by the need to fulfill Morgana's wishes. Was it only that, or was it the longing inspired by the gentle sway of her hips as she turned and walked away? An increasingly familiar sensation flooded his lower regions as he imagined what she might look like when freed from the confines of her purple gown, the way she would respond as he ran his hands across her generous curves.

No, it was no mystery as to why he'd loved this woman in his previous life. Even with only the vaguest of flashes of memory to guide him, she worked like a magnet upon his senses, everything about her practically begging him to forget all else just to be with her.

"Lancelot?"

Half dazed, he turned toward the speaker, only to find Merlin staring back at him with a distinctly worried expression. And then he remembered... he was not to make his intentions obvious. Only in private, and only with Gwen's permission was he permitted to act upon his feelings.

"Merlin," he acknowledged with a courteous smile.

"I-ah... it'll be several days before your former quarters are made available. Arthur said you should stay with me and Gaius until then. You know, like the old days."

"The old days," Lancelot echoed, with no recollection what that actually meant. He'd have to proceed carefully here, he realized, as he followed the other man through the unfamiliar corridors. Morgana had mentioned that the two of them were friends, but he was beginning to wonder if the depth of that friendship went far beyond what he'd been told. Something about the way Merlin looked at him with those sharp blue eyes... as if he knew all his secrets.

But all went smoothly once they'd entered the chamber; Lancelot even remembered to make a show of refusal when Merlin offered him his own bed to sleep in. Indeed, he was getting better at this... he'd needed no instruction to realize that his former self would've been far too humble to accept such a thing as his due.

Perhaps he should have resisted a little more, shown a stronger reaction in response to Merlin's heartfelt regrets regarding his demise. The sincerity in the other man's eyes did move him on some level, but he was so tired... far too tired to give it any further thought after what had been a long and extremely exhausting day.

And so he simply bid Merlin goodnight, waiting for the door to close before stretching out on his back and almost immediately losing himself in dreamless slumber.

* * *

"Take it," Agravaine commanded as he pressed the circle of silver into Lancelot's palm.

They were standing in a deserted alcove, safe from prying eyes in the lower reaches of the palace. The bright morning sunlight did not penetrate these corridors, stark and windowless, far removed from the cheerful atmosphere of the bustling fortress above.

Lancelot frowned. "What is it? What does it do?"

"Are you questioning Morgana's orders?"

"Of course not," Lancelot said placidly, ignoring the dangerous tone in the other man's voice. "But if I understand what it is, it will be easier to determine how it might best be presented to the lady in question."

Agravaine smirked in that condescending way Lancelot was truly beginning to hate. "You overreach yourself if you believe you would be trusted to make such decisions on your own. No, it would be the deepest folly to leave you to your own devices in such an important matter. Therefore, you will go to Guinevere's home - you'll find her there alone at this time of morning - and you will present this bracelet to her as a token of your friendship, along with your sincerest wishes for a happy union with our king."

"But that's a lie."

The other man laughed outright. "This is all a lie! That's the beauty of it. Either way, it is not your business to question, simply to obey."

Lancelot made a show of suitable humility as he bowed his head, swallowing his resentment. "My most sincere apologies, my lord," he said in the meekest voice he could manage. "If I might be permitted to ask - what will happen after I've given Gwen this token?"

Agravaine's eyes glittered with anticipation. "Arthur's most unsuitable choice of a future queen will start to remember her feelings for another man - you. From what I understand, there was a strong passion between the two of you in the past... one that has never been fully satisfied to the best of my knowledge. Our Guinevere will naturally wish to see that through to its inevitable conclusion."

"Will she have a choice in the matter?"

"What a peculiar question! Why should you care, as long as Morgana gets what she wants?"

"Of course, my lord. Forgive me, I don't know why I even asked."

"You don't know your ass from your elbow, obviously," Agravaine said dismissively. "That is precisely why I am here to guide you. Now no more foolishness. Listen, and I'll tell you what to do..."

One part of Lancelot absorbed the instructions he was given, while the other dwelled upon the whirl of confusing emotions inside his head. Why should he care? That was a good question, though one he didn't know how to begin to answer. The fact was that he did... having already learned how much pain and frustration there was in having absolutely no say over his own actions, it wasn't difficult to sympathize with the idea of someone else having to go through the same thing. Especially her... so pretty, so sweet with her soft curls and gentle smile. She didn't deserve it, this vile man in front of him plotting against her with such malicious glee.

But then again, Agravaine had said the bracelet would simply cause her to remember her feelings for him. That would not be possible if they didn't already exist, would it? Was it really so bad to give her a way to acknowledge all the things she might have forgotten? Lancelot himself would die all over again for the same privilege.

That thought, along with the undeniable truth that Lancelot _wanted_ her to desire him was enough cause to set his reservations aside as he departed the palace and made his way through the lower town.

It wasn't difficult to find her house - Agravaine's directions had been vague at best, but somehow, his feet seemed to know the way. And then he was at her door, momentarily forgetting every one of the lines he'd so recently memorized as he treated her to the first sincere smile that had crossed his lips since the moment he'd awoken to his strange second life.

Dear gods, she was beautiful...

"I wasn't sure I'd find you here," he said softly, the words coming back to him in a flash. " I thought you might have rooms in the palace."

"I want to stay here as long as I can. It may not be much, but it's my home."

That was curious; was there some part of Gwen that was reluctant to leave behind the life she'd always known? It was an appealing thought, one that soothed both his personal desires and the gradually awakening conscience he didn't quite know how to deal with. Maybe... if she was having doubts about her marriage to Arthur anyway, perhaps what he was being compelled to do wouldn't be so bad. Could there be some small chance that everything would turn out for the best?

Gwen hesitated when he asked to be let inside, and he found himself questioning that action as well. From everything he'd been told, his sense of honor had been so strong in the past that she couldn't possibly see him as a threat. Was there another reason for her nervousness then? If she didn't have any reason not to trust him, did she not trust herself?

Oh, he wanted to believe that... to convince himself that this was somehow what she wantedin, with or without the bloody bracelet.

She was apologizing now, wistful and forlorn as she sought his forgiveness for the sacrifice he didn't remember. Morgana had shed little light where that was concerned, only that he'd willingly chosen to walk through the veil between the worlds in order to save his loved ones from certain destruction. There was no suggestion that anyone had forced him into that decision, no hint that they owed him any apologies for having done so. Why did they all feel so guilty about it?

"If it weren't for you, there'd be no wedding," she murmured, looking up at him with big, soft eyes that he wanted to lose himself in forever. "There are no words to thank you enough."

"There is no need for that. I did what I felt was right in my heart. You taught me that, Gwen. To be true to myself."

It was an honest statement - it had to be, otherwise he wouldn't have been instructed to say it in the first place. But the fact that it was true wounded him deeply; he was finally forced to admit to himself that it was Morgana who was in the wrong, along with her vile servant Agravaine. Nothing could justify causing harm to such an innocent person.

And so he could only hope his earlier suspicions - wishful thinking, to be more precise - would prove true in the end. Maybe Gwen wasn't set in her choice to marry Arthur. Maybe she felt obligated, or simply wouldn't allow herself to imagine any other options at this late date. Yes, Lancelot decided it was necessary to believe that as he presented her with the bracelet that would make whatever feelings she had for Arthur irrelevant in any case.

_Maybe... maybe she was meant for me all along._

He was hardly aware of the final words he spoke before leaving her, some parroted line about Arthur and everlasting happiness that Agravaine had passed along with a sneer upon his bloodless lips. It was impossible to care about that with wave after wave of heady desire still rushing through his body, the product of nothing more than a chaste kiss upon Gwen's forehead. Lancelot had never felt anything like that... not even when he'd lain with Morgana, driven by pure, physical need as she'd moaned and writhed beneath his pounding thrusts.

No, what he was feeling now went so much deeper than the aching between his legs - although that was certainly present as well. It was a longing so profound that it couldn't possibly be satisfied by a simple rut between a pair of soft thighs. He wanted that, too, dear gods, but also... there were no words to define the rush of overwhelming emotion he couldn't even begin to understand. It made itself known with a hollow ache somewhere deep in his chest, a gaping chasm that could only be filled by her.

How such a thing might be accomplished, however, he could not say.


	4. Part IV: His Temptation

**Part IV: His Temptation**

Lancelot wanted answers.

Another day of jousting, followed by a lovely dinner shared with the people who'd once been his nearest and dearest, and the empty spaces in his mind were driving him mad. It wasn't as if he could ask any of them, 'Who was I? What memories do we share?' without exposing the charade, however, so there was no choice but to suffer in silence.

But it wasn't as if he were an imposter either, was it? The real Lancelot lay buried in the recesses of his mind, perhaps forever beyond his reach, but part of him nonetheless. Everything he'd once been and known, loved and believed was still inside him somewhere... so was he _really_ deceiving these people? Fabricating anything that might lead to the discovery that he was acting under Morgana's orders, certainly, but there was at least some truth behind his words and actions, even if he couldn't fully understand what it was. He was still _Lancelot_, just not the Lancelot the others remembered.

Besides, if he were not himself at all, then why did so many elements of his previous life come to him so naturally? Jousting, swordplay, courtly manners... his desire for Gwen.

And then on the second night, Lancelot began to dream. Only fleeting images, nothing to connect one with the next, and yet somehow he recognized them as the traces of forgotten memories they were. He saw a slightly younger version of Merlin staring back at him, blue eyes wide with excitement as he waved around a rolled up bit of parchment. His lips were moving almost nonstop, and yet no sound emerged.

_Merlin? What are you trying to tell me?_

But the image faded, immediately replaced by another face gazing out at him from between a set of cold metal bars, eyes soft and compassionate. This time, he heard a voice, gentle and clear as it posed a question he could not answer.

"What became of you after you left Camelot?"

Lancelot could only shake his head. "I don't know."

That vision of Gwen disappeared, and then the scene opened into a large, unfamiliar hall. Eight people were seated around a round table: Merlin, Gwen, Arthur, Gaius, and the four men Lancelot had learned were his fellow knights. Each of their faces looked solemn yet determined; he leaned forward eagerly as Arthur rose to speak, only to be sorely disappointed as he woke up alone in Merlin's tiny bedchamber.

Sighing in resignation, he rose and dressed as he felt her pull... the intangible draw of magic leading him down into the bowels of the castle once more.

Of course, it wasn't Morgana he found waiting for him; Agravaine stood there wearing that infuriating smirk, the same coldness in his dark eyes as he shot the younger man a patronizing look. Lancelot glared at him in response, and yet there was no choice but to obediently accept his newest orders.

"Let her come to you, and take it from there."

Well, that was easily accomplished. Gwen had hardly been able to keep her eyes off him at dinner the night before, and from Lancelot's understanding, the spell would only grow more powerful the longer she kept the bracelet on her wrist. Part of him wanted to rip it off and hide it in the bottom of the nearest lake... and yet another part, ruled by primal instincts which had nothing to do with the orders he'd received, hoped she would wear it forever.

Gwen was still his somehow; Lancelot felt it in his bones. Her heart had once belonged to him, fully and without reservation, and that wasn't the kind of gift that was easily rescinded. Out of all the confusion in his mind, the unending tangle of conflicting emotions and empty spaces, that was the one thing he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. This feeling was as tangible as the ground beneath his feet, leaving him to wonder yet again just how in the hell he'd ever managed to lose the woman he'd loved to another man.

Why _had_ she deserted him for Arthur? That remained the most difficult question of all.

The first time Gwen came to him, he could sense her hesitation. Her presence in his tent was like a newly formed flower bending under a strong breeze, fragile and tremulous as it struggled to maintain balance beneath a force it could not hope to stand against.

In that moment, his own desire was replaced by pity. It wasn't right for it to happen this way; despite his solid belief that they truly were meant to be together, Lancelot couldn't ignore the conviction that Gwen should be allowed to make her own choice. Now he'd never know if she would've come to him freely in the end... without magic, without manipulation, without a trace of doubt in her heart.

And so he spoke to her of her future husband, in the futile hope that she understood what she was doing and had still chosen this option for herself. But all his good intentions came to nothing - she quickly fled, leaving him with an overwhelming feeling of loss at her absence.

Soon enough, the last whispers of conscience gradually faded to nothing, silenced by the growing need just to be with her, to lay claim to her body and soul, and damn the consequences.

By the time she returned a couple hours later, the decision was made. Whether it was the product of Morgana's compulsions or the result of a passion that had gone unsatisfied for far too long, there was no more room for rational thought. Gwen was no longer the flower bending in the breeze, but the wind itself, sweeping over Lancelot like a force of nature with nothing more than a touch of her gentle fingers.

He held himself in check at first, breathing in the intoxicating scent of some fragrant herb he couldn't recall by name, gazing into her liquid dark eyes as she twined her fingers with his and waited for him to make the next move. Lancelot took a moment to revel in her nearness - her warmth, her breath, the slight tremor that rippled through her body as he leaned a little closer... and then he was lost.

The rest of the world faded to nothing, and then he was kissing her, tasting her, devouring her equally hungry mouth in response to a barely distinguishable voice inside his head that swore he'd spent half a lifetime longing to do this very thing. This, and so much more.

No wonder Morgana had felt wrong to him somehow, as if she'd been a scabbard that had been crafted to hold a different sword. In a sudden flash of clarity, Lancelot knew he'd only ever desired one woman, and that was the one he was holding in his arms, a closeness that felt as natural to him as breathing. Even the scant few inches of empty space between their bodies created a maddening separation, but he needed to touch her, growling in frustration at the layers of purple muslin that prevented the more intimate caresses he wanted to give. His fingers fumbled with the fastenings on the back of her gown, an ineffectual attempt that was temporarily abandoned as he dipped his head to press hungry kisses across the tops of her breasts.

So sweet...

Gwen's hands were everywhere, gripping his shoulders, running restlessly up and down his back and then around to slip beneath the front of his shirt; Lancelot groaned into her mouth as her fingers trailed a blaze of fire across the planes of his stomach, one small hand drifting lower to stroke the bulge of his erection through his trousers.

"Lancelot?"

He took a couple of quick steps backward, stumbling in his haste to put a little distance between himself and the woman who stood there panting, lush lips still swollen from his kisses. It took all his willpower not to rush right back into her embrace, excusing the action by telling himself that they were meant to be discovered anyway. But no... not yet, and not by Merlin. He had his orders.

"Meet me tonight," he whispered to Gwen, his chest swelling with a heady rush of emotion when she responded with an eager nod. "Midnight. The council chambers."

And then he pasted a bland smile on his face before stepping out of the tent to meet his former friend. If Merlin suspected anything, he said nothing; Lancelot glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see Gwen as she quietly slipped away.

* * *

"It must happen tonight," Agravaine said urgently. "I was certain the matter would be resolved when I saw her sneaking into your tent this afternoon, especially when she lingered for so long. Damn that insufferable manservant! I don't know how he always manages to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lancelot? Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course."

As if disobedience were an option. Even now, he could feel the compulsion pulling at him... the need to carry out Morgana's wishes, to please her, to give her exactly what she wanted no matter what the cost. But there was another woman now, a different sort of satisfaction that he wasn't willing to sacrifice so easily. If he simply did what he was told, his blissful evening with Gwen, alone with nothing but the darkness between them, would be cut abruptly short.

But what to do? He couldn't change it... or could he?

"I've already arranged a meeting with her," he informed the other man.

"When? Where?"

"In the council chambers. 2 AM."

The corners of Agravaine's mouth turned up into a nasty smile. "The irony is not unappreciated. Very well - I'll rouse the king at 2:15. Just be sure to have our Guinevere in a compromising position by that time. If you can manage to have her naked, all the better."

Lancelot grew hard at the mere suggestion of an unclothed Gwen, despite the fact that it had been offered by the most repulsive person imaginable. Oh yes, he would have her out of that damnable dress, even if he had to rip it off her. But what Agravaine didn't know was that it would happen hours before their appointed time. He'd been ordered to seduce the future queen, to allow for discovery before tomorrow's wedding could take place. There'd been no restrictions upon what time this should happen, however, no instructions to prevent him from enjoying her at his leisure before fulfilling Morgana's orders.

"As you say, my lord," he responded mildly.

* * *

Agravaine really did have a point about Merlin's tendency to show up at inopportune moments. The spell caught Lancelot off guard, flinging him a good few yards before he landed heavily on the hard stone floor. Silly waste of magic. He was on his feet again after no more than a few seconds, determined to dispose of this unpleasant complication to what was otherwise a failproof plan.

But when he pulled his sword, something wouldn't allow him to deliver the death blow. Fleeting memories of smiles, laughter, the instinctive knowledge that this was a person he'd once loved, even if he didn't feel that way now. It was the same sort of connection he'd made earlier that day when he'd held his lance aloft and allowed the injured Arthur safe passage. Would Morgana be angry if she learned of his acts of mercy? Arthur was the person she wanted to destroy, after all, and Merlin was clearly a risk to everything she was trying to accomplish. But somehow, Lancelot couldn't bring himself to care... unless direct orders made it unavoidable, he had no intention of committing murder.

Instead, he rendered Merlin unconscious with a sharp blow to the head. Arthur's servant would have quite the headache when he woke up, but surely that was far preferable to being run through. Yes, temporary unconsciousness would have to be good enough... he didn't have the heart to do anything worse.

* * *

Gwen arrived five minutes early, wary and utterly beautiful as she rushed into his arms.

"Are you sure this is safe?" she whispered, and when she looked to him for reassurance, dark eyes filled with complete trust, some new emotion stirred within Lancelot's chest. He suddenly felt the need to protect her, to shield her from even the slightest threat that might arise.

"No one visits the council chambers at this time of the night," he murmured tenderly, and that was enough to reward him with a grateful smile.

_Don't think about it,_ he chided himself as her fingers fluttered across his chest. _There's no stopping what you've been ordered to do._

It could have been a heavy cloud hanging over the short amount of time he'd managed to set aside to be with her, but from the moment she drew his head down for a deep and hungry kiss, any thought of Morgana, of separation or betrayal, faded from his mind altogether. There was only room for Lancelot and Gwen, emotions and instincts that were deep and pure, existing in a place that no enchantment could ever hope to touch.

As their kisses grew more demanding, two pairs of hands began to roam, and soft sounds of protest echoed through the deserted chamber in response to thick layers of clothing, it became clear to Lancelot that he'd been flawed in his selection of a proper location for their tryst. The floor was hard, much too unyielding to provide a comfortable place for their lovemaking. Against the wall, perhaps? That might do... though some part of him longed to have her spread out beneath him, to lie beside her, then cover her body with his own in a possessive gesture that was older than time itself.

And then he saw it... a tapestry hanging upon the opposite wall, emblazoned with a golden dragon.

"Take your dress off," he bent down to whisper in Gwen's ear, gratified to feel her shiver as her fingers fumbled in their haste to do his bidding. "I will return shortly."


	5. Part V: His Completion

**Part V: His Completion**

Lancelot didn't give a damn about the right or wrong of his actions as he ripped the heavily embroidered tapestry off the wall. All that mattered was that the fabric was soft and thick, more than large enough to create a cozy pallet on the floor for himself and Gwen.

When the preparations had been made, he turned around to find her waiting quietly just a few steps behind him. She was clad in only a thin linen shift, cheeks pink as she peeked up at him through lowered lashes. He gazed at her face for a moment, lingering on lips that were moist and swollen from his kisses, before his eyes drifted down... traveling over soft curves, swallowing hard when he came to the dark places that tipped her breasts and marked the juncture between her thighs.

The scant fabric of her undergarment left little to the imagination, and yet it was still too much coverage as far as he was concerned. His first instinct was to tear it away himself, before an even more enticing thought entered his mind.

"Show me the rest," he said, his voice soft and husky. "Let me see you... all of you."

Gwen blushed a deeper shade of red, though she submitted to his request without hesitation. Lancelot remained frozen in place, absolutely mesmerized as her fingers closed around the buttons at either shoulder, releasing them in one deft motion.

"Exquisite," he whispered, smiling gently as she blushed and ducked her head.

Part of him wanted to stand there gazing at her for a lifetime, contenting himself with nothing more than the sight of the naked beauty before him. But another part almost immediately rose to put an end to his passive admiration, nearly blinding him with the sheer force of his need as he closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. Before he could take her in his arms, however , she restrained him with a hand placed firmly against his chest, glancing up at him with an impish smile.

"Your turn."

"Yes, my lady," he responded obediently, taking a step backward as he reached up to unbutton his shirt.

Her eyes softened. "You haven't called me that in ages. Not since the first time you came to Camelot. Do you remember?"

Lancelot slipped the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before reaching down to unbuckle his scabbard. "Of course I do, but... tell me about it, Gwen. Show it to me again through your eyes."

He watched, entranced, while she settled herself upon the tapestry, releasing a cascade of dark curls to spill across her shoulders as she set the silver clip on top of her discarded dress. She curled her legs to one side, giving him a seductive smile as he reached down to pull off his boots, and then attempted to hide a giggle when he struggled with the simple task. Unable to help himself, Lancelot paused to give her a deep, lingering kiss, sighing into her mouth as she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair.

"Tell me," he whispered against her lips.

Her eyes grew misty as she looked beyond him, lost in the memories he desperately longed to share. "When Merlin brought you to my house, I thought you were the most handsome man I'd ever seen," she said almost shyly. "I was so nervous when I measured you for your knight's costume, though I tried not to let it show. It was hard, especially when I saw that you were as affected by my presence as I was yours. No man had ever..."

"Go on," he urged softly, while his fingers fumbled with the laces of his trousers.

Gwen ducked her head, hesitating for a moment before she spoke again. "No man had ever noticed me that way before... before you came along."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"It's true. I..." and then she trailed off as he pushed his unfastened trousers down his legs, stepping out of them and nudging them aside with one foot. He straightened, feeling her gaze scorch his naked skin as she scrutinized him without a trace of shyness in her gaze. His chest... the flat planes of his stomach... and then lower to the heavy erection resting between his thighs. She licked her lips as her eyes lingered upon the unmistakable evidence of his desire for her, bare breasts rising and falling in a soft sigh of appreciation.

He joined her on the ground then, urging her to lie back as he stretched himself out beside her and relished the sweet friction of his skin against hers. "Tell me more," he murmured in a husky voice, planting soft kisses along the column of her throat as his hand drifted down to explore the contours of her body. "Please..."

Her words were a little unsteady now, but she made a valiant effort at continuing the story nonetheless. "I knew it as soon as I saw you," she said breathlessly as his mouth moved lower. "Commoner or not, some men are just born for knighthood."

And then something flashed across his mind, a momentary vision of a lovely smile and a plain yellow dress. "I'm not a knight yet, my lady," he whispered against the swell of her breast, the words echoing in his head from another time, another world, another life.

"And I'm not a lady."

The words came out upon a shaky moan as he drew a taut nipple into his mouth, and yet Lancelot heard them clearly, distinctly, spoken in a slightly more girlish voice and accompanied by a self-conscious giggle.

He remembered... dear lord, he _remembered._ It wasn't much, but it was _real._

"Orange tabard," he muttered, not bothering to lift his head from her breast. His hand slid between her thighs, groaning low in his throat as she willingly parted them in response to his gentle urging.

She gave a breathless laugh, lifting her hips just a little as his fingers ghosted across her damp curls. "Yes. Not... not the most flattering color, but it looked wonderful on you. Lancelot, please..."

Taking mercy on her, or perhaps upon them both, Lancelot sought a firmer touch. Gwen cried out softly as he slid his fingers inside her, her body writhing in time with the steady rhythm of penetration and withdrawal as his mouth fastened over hers, swallowing her sounds of pleasure. It would not do to be too loud... he couldn't remember exactly why anymore, but there had to be a reason behind the trace of caution hovering at the edges of his inflamed senses.

Her mouth tasted of some past recollection, sweet and just a little spicy... he remembered the way it had once lingered upon his lips long after she'd left his presence, a moment of passion that had ended much too soon. Where had that happened? When?

But any further need to grasp at straws slipped from his mind as Gwen reached down and wrapped a hand around him, hesitating a little as if she were waiting for his approval. Unleashing a hungry growl, he thrust himself into the touch, hips pushing forward as she began to stroke his hardness. The friction of her soft hands felt like heaven on his fevered skin... good... so good that he could almost...

No. There was something even better than this, and he intended to have it before he was finished.

And so he pulled away, using one knee to nudge her legs a little further apart as he rose to kneel between her thighs. The sound of his own ragged breathing seemed abnormally loud in the silent chamber, harsh and raspy as his eyes devoured every inch of her sweet body. Hers were closed, tawny skin glistening with just the lightest sheen of sweat as her lips parted, releasing a helpless little whimper that made his lower regions throb almost painfully in response. She was his for the taking, spread out before him like some priceless treasure, and yet he hesitated... why?

Her eyes opened slowly, heavy lidded and slightly unfocused as she reached for him. "Lancelot, please..."

And then he knew exactly what he was waiting for, the one thing that had been denied throughout so many years that only existed to him now as the briefest flashes of memory. It wasn't enough just to take her, simply because he could. He needed to hear her ask for it, to know for a certainty that it was her choice as much as it was his own.

"Tell me," he pleaded softly. "Tell me what you want."

Gwen tossed her head back and forth in frustration, struggling for the words to articulate her desire. "I want... this. You. All of you. Inside me."

That was enough for Lancelot; he fell into her embrace with a sigh of gratitude, reaching between their bodies with shaking fingers to guide himself to her entrance.

_Be gentle,_ he tried to remind himself as he pushed his way inside with a blissful moan, burying himself to the hilt in her intoxicating heat. _Keep it slow._

But it was Gwen who didn't have the patience for a gradual build; she squirmed beneath him, pressing her hips against his in an insistent gesture that was impossible to ignore.

"More," she pleaded softly, gasping into his mouth as he responded to her demand by increasing the friction between them. "I need..."

What happened after that was a blissful succession of frantic thrusts and shuddering moans, fingernails digging into his shoulders, his backside, trailing up and down his back as their bodies strained together in the darkness, crying out for release. Lancelot grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head with one of his own and bracing himself with the other while he drove into her harder, faster, losing himself in the depths of her eyes as he felt her tighten around him. She was teetering on the brink, almost there, and then he no longer cared how loud she was as she cried out in an incoherent plea for release.

"Don't close your eyes," he rasped out, withdrawing almost completely and hovering there, gritting his teeth as he struggled to maintain control. "Look at me."

She did so reluctantly, accompanied by a petulant whimper. "Lancelot..."

Without warning, he jerked his hips almost violently, burying himself deep within her, then withdrawing to push himself even deeper still as she moaned loudly and lifted her hips to meet his increasingly desperate thrusts. He whispered her name like a prayer, and then a hoarse shout echoed off the walls of the chamber as he spilled himself inside her, his body spasming as he lost himself in a sensation that was unlike any he had ever known. There was a dim awareness of his name being uttered a second time, emerging as almost a scream as she tightened and pulsed around him, but he was drowning in her eyes, those incredible eyes that were at the center of a thousand memories that slammed into him all at once.

"Gwen..." he cried out, fully recognizing her for the first time even as she turned her face away and buried it in the curve of his neck with a soft sob of completion. "Gods..."

The onslaught of past recollections was gone as swiftly as it had come, fading along with the blinding waves of pleasure that had overtaken them both at the same moment. One melted seamlessly into a languorous, drowsy feeling of satisfaction, and the other... the memories were gone, and yet the feeling remained. Lancelot loved Gwen, had always loved her, from the moment his life had truly begun, right up until his last breath and beyond. That wasn't merely something he knew by instinct anymore, an overall impression with only the vaguest emotion to attach to it. It was real, as strong as the heartbeat that pounded in his chest.

For her... everything had always been for her.

They both remained silent as they recovered from their lovemaking, struggling to catch their breath as the night air cooled their heated skin. Lancelot held Gwen close as she clung to him in return, carefully shifting to one side so he wouldn't crush her with his weight. He felt himself softening inside her but didn't withdraw, reluctant to allow even that small separation from the only thing he'd ever truly wanted, both in this life and the last.

"Lancelot?"

He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "Hmmm?"

"I'm not sorry. Whatever happens... I'm not sorry."

"I..." trailing off, he struggled to form his thoughts into words. "I am. Not for what we just did, but for interfering with your life, your plans, for whatever pain this may cause you in the future. I just couldn't..."

Gwen placed her fingers to his lips. "This isn't your fault. It's what I wanted."

"It is my fault, though you'll never understand why. I'm not sure I do either."

"The bracelet?"

Lancelot stiffened. "Wh... what do you mean?"

Propping herself up on one elbow, she smiled down at him. "The bracelet. When you showed up at my house that day, I realized you still had feelings for me. If not, why would you have risked coming to me alone like that? I'd wondered for so many years... after you returned to Camelot, I still thought that maybe... but you were always so distant, so polite, and I was with Arthur by then. It seemed it would be best to move on with my life. But when they told me you had sacrificed yourself..." she trailed off as she began to cry.

"Gwen, please don't," he murmured, pulling her closer. "It's all right. It doesn't matter now."

"But it does," she argued, the words somewhat muffled against his chest. "That was when I realized how much I still loved you, that awful day when I knew you'd never return. I had never stopped loving you, and it was too late... far too late to tell you the truth. I couldn't forgive myself for that."

"And Arthur?"

She gave a hollow laugh. "I love him, too. That's the worst part about it. I never thought I would, but then you left me without telling me why. I was alone and he was there, and I grew to care for him very much. It wasn't quite the same, and yet I could've been happy with him in the end, I think, if I'd been able to accept that there really was no future for you and me. But I just couldn't... there was no closure between us, and I just couldn't let go. I've spent all my time trying to move on, and it just... it hasn't worked. Perhaps I started to when I thought you were dead, but knowing that you're not..."

Lancelot sucked in a sharp breath. "So you've had these feelings for me all along? Before... before I came to your house?"

"Yes."

"I can no longer remember why I chose to leave you in the past," Lancelot told her honestly, swallowing an overwhelming feeling of relief. "But I'm certain that it wasn't because I didn't love you. I suppose I just thought that..." he struggled with the blank spaces in his mind, frustrated at his inability to provide the answers she obviously needed.

Gwen sighed. "It doesn't matter now. I just... oh, this is a mess. You, and Arthur... my god, I'm supposed to be getting married in the morning and I can't even bring myself to feel ashamed of what I've done tonight. Please, Lancelot, tell me what to do. Tell me there's some solution to this where no one has to get hurt."

_Run,_ he suddenly wanted to cry out, as his ears picked up on the echo of distant footsteps in the corridor outside. _Get as far away from me as possible before it's too late._

But when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn't utter the words. Frantically, he tried to scramble away from her to no avail. Morgana's compulsions held him fast, damning them both to a fate that was suddenly too frightening to imagine. And so he held Gwen more tightly, leaned in for one last, desperate kiss, clinging to the fading illusion that he might be able to shelter her from the catastrophe that was about to unfold.

Gwen jerked in his arms, letting out a startled cry as the doors to the council chambers burst open to reveal Arthur, his face twisted in a mask of horrified anguish. Behind him stood Agravaine, smirking in delight at the sight of the couple lying entwined in a naked embrace, the ultimate betrayal committed right on top of the sigil of a man who had done nothing to deserve such a brutal blow to his heart.

Agravaine's gaze drifted from the blank space on the wall to the patch of golden embroidery that became visible as Lancelot and Gwen sat up and scrambled for their clothing. _Nice touch,_ his eyes seemed to say, as he gave a slight nod of approval.

Hastily returning his attention to the king, Lancelot was overwhelmed by sympathy and a deep sense of regret for his actions, whether he'd had any control over them or not. He searched his mind for some word of apology, even as Arthur drew his sword and charged at him with a scream of fury.


	6. Part VI: His Redemption

**Part VI: His Redemption**

Lancelot sat in the cold cell, staring numbly at the wall. It had been two days already, long hours spent in silence and in solitude as he awaited his fate. His, but more importantly... _hers. _

Where was she? He'd been dragged past her cell when they'd brought him down to the dungeons, his heart wrenching with sorrow as he'd caught the briefest glimpse of her with her face buried in her hands, weeping piteously with no one to comfort her tears. The sight had nearly broken him, and yet, he'd had no choice but to keep moving, well aware that any show of concern could only make matters worse in light of what had happened.

That Arthur would probably order his own execution, Lancelot had no doubt; Agravaine and Morgana had both insisted that it was the done thing in these situations. But Gwen? Surely the king wouldn't harm her... not if he truly loved her, which certainly seemed to be the case if the severity of his reaction to finding her in another man's arms were any indication.

_Let them do what they will with me,_ he thought to himself. _I don't care, as long as she is safe._

It was another echo from his previous life; they'd been coming upon him more and more frequently since his fight with the king and subsequent incarceration, bits and pieces which had only just started to fit themselves together in some sort of recognizable pattern. Rescuing Merlin from a mighty winged beast, Gwen giving him weapons and armor as he'd gone out to face the same creature. There was a memory of drinking with Arthur at some sort of celebration that was fairly clear to him now, along with a recollection of urging Gwen to go on without him as he turned back, willing to fight to the death to ensure her safety.

That was all, and yet, it was everything. Lancelot finally understood how he'd felt about these people, and why... though stronger than anything else was a single phrase spoken in his own voice, ringing as clear as a bell in the recesses of his mind.

"I would die for you 100 times over. Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing."

The promise haunted him as he waited, helpless and silent in his dungeon cell. How could it not, when he knew deep in his heart that it had been the most important vow he had ever made... one he'd ultimately given his life for without a trace of regret? To think that Lancelot himself might be the cause of Gwen's downfall despite such a fierce determination to protect her, to keep her safe always, was unthinkable.

* * *

"This is from our Lady Morgana," Agravaine said solemnly, holding out a sealed missive. "She has one last wish for you."

"Whatever my lady desires," he responded automatically, reaching for the letter. Her final order... did she mean to release him from her service, or simply to kill him? Did it matter? What she'd forced him to do had effectively destroyed any chance he might be able to remain in Camelot and resume some facsimile of his former life, which was the only thing he would've wanted to do anyway. He'd once given his life for the people within these walls; why would he want to live without them?

Agravaine was staring at him expectantly, and so he broke the seal and began to read.

_Lancelot,_

_You've done very well, exceeding all expectations. Unfortunately, our plan has failed, at least the part that was beyond either your control or mine. Once again, my brother proves himself to be soft, weak, refusing to subject the two of you to the appropriate punishment for your transgression._

_He should've ordered both of your executions without a second thought, for it is the done thing in situations like this, which are not only a personal slight, but also considered treason. Alas, despite Agravaine's best efforts, Arthur has reduced both of your sentences to mere banishment. Coward._

_Lancelot, this must not be allowed to happen. I know my brother too well - as long as that woman remains alive, there is always the possibility that he will forgive her and she might yet steal the crown from under my nose. In addition to that, the compulsions I have placed over you will not last forever, and I cannot run the risk of you turning against me and revealing what we have done._

_Therefore, I have made arrangements with Agravaine to secure your release. You are to follow Gwen into exile, then put an end to both of your lives by sunrise tomorrow. It is the only way._

_Farewell, Lancelot. You have served me well._

_Morgana_

* * *

Agravaine visited Lancelot again late that night, unlocking the cell door and sending him off with a final smirk. All the way up through the dungeons and through the secret passages he'd been directed to use, the former knight could only pray for discovery, even as Morgana's iron will compelled him to move with the utmost stealth through the darkness, out of the palace and beyond the city walls.

No mercy... no frantic shouts from the guards, no hindering arrow or swiftly drawn blade to render him incapable of taking on this last, most hellish mission.

There was nothing but silence, along with a clear path he couldn't pretend not to recognize. Only a couple of miles and he came upon her, helpless and vulnerable as she slumbered beside the remnants of a tiny campfire. Tear stains were still evident upon her cheeks, showing themselves to him clearly by the light of a full moon, and all he wanted to do was to kiss her awake, to take her in his arms and comfort her, telling her over and over how sorry he was... not only for what had already transpired, but for the awful, awful thing Morgana was forcing him to do.

The witch's command thrummed through his body, growing stronger by the minute even as he fought against it to no avail. _Kill... kill... kill..._ the compulsion was pulling him under, drowning him, removing any emotion or sense of awareness as daylight swiftly approached. Gwen had ceased to be the woman he loved, swiftly fading from even being a sympathetic figure as she lay curled up on the ground; all Lancelot knew was that he must destroy her.

He pulled his sword from its sheath, a sharp scrape of metal in the silent grove. But just as he raised it to strike the death blow, she let out a soft sigh and shifted in her sleep.

Only the faintest twinge of remorse was enough for Lancelot to turn away, to regain some small measure of control over himself as he forced his legs to move. Every step was torturous, the denial of Morgana's compulsion making itself known in nerve endings that burned and screamed at the betrayal. But the one thing his mistress hadn't realized was that even the most powerful form of enslavement was not enough to triumph over his revulsion at the idea of murdering the person he loved. The anguish involved in such an act would be far greater than anything the darkest magic could inflict upon his soul.

Lancelot's will grew stronger as he moved further away from Gwen; it was a brief respite, one that probably wouldn't last long, not that that was a risk he was willing to take in any case. But for now, Morgana's control buckled beneath an overwhelming rush of of everything he'd ever been and still was in some small way as he found a secluded area and prepared to do the only thing that would protect the woman he loved from death by his own hand.

As the gray light just before dawn began to spill over the trees, he smiled in triumph and unsheathed his sword once more. Indeed, he'd been commanded to end both their lives... but Morgana had made a grievous error in not specifying the order in which that was meant to happen. Soon he would be beyond her control, removed from the threat of causing any further harm through her treachery.

His smile faded as he fell upon his own weapon, drawing strength from the few cherished memories he possessed as he collapsed with a hiss of surprised pain. Lying there with the blade embedded deep in his chest, he gritted his teeth through the agony, remaining silent when all he wanted to do was cry out in anguish. Oh gods, it hurt... so much more than he would've ever expected, sharp, burning, blinding pain that brought tears to his eyes as he twisted and writhed in a futile attempt to alleviate his suffering.

The compulsion nagged at him again as the sun rose over the horizon, and all he could do was grimace as he struggled to his feet, then immediately fell with a heavy thud. Even Morgana didn't have the power to command a body which no longer had the strength to do her bidding, and for that, he was immensely grateful.

Lancelot's sight grew dim as his life's blood seeped from the wound in an ever-increasing circle upon the forest floor, a pervasive weariness spreading through his limbs as he listened to the songs of the birds who were on hand to meet the dawn. He closed his eyes, and then managed one last tremulous smile as he imagined a different pair of deep brown orbs, infinitely sweeter than his own, eyes that could now open to greet another day without reason to fear. She was safe... she was safe.

His final breath was released in a whisper - her name - as he twitched once, then lay still.

* * *

The first thing he saw when he came back to himself was a pair of tearful blue eyes, followed by a graceful hand that shook as it reached out to touch his face.

"We don't have long," Merlin said sadly.

"I know."

He could feel the temporary magic already draining from his body, the first traces of darkness fluttering around the edges of his consciousness. The welcome release of oblivion beckoned him forward, promising a peace he knew all too well and no longer saw any reason to be afraid of. It was safe in that place, free from treachery or regret or anything that even remotely resembled pain. He would return to it soon, and gladly, but first...

"I'm so sorry, Lancelot." His friend, one he now knew intimately thanks to the memories that were now in his full possession, was openly weeping at his side.

"Don't be," Lancelot responded in a faint voice. "You brought me back to myself, the only thing I could've wished for after everything that's happened. How could I be anything except incredibly grateful to you for that?"

"But it's too late. I should have done something sooner. Should've..."

"No, Merlin. It's never too late. If there's one thing I've learned from dying multiple times..."

Merlin let out a strange sound that was both a laugh and a sob.

"... it's that there are always second chances. There's always hope, no matter how much it might seem otherwise."

Feebly, he reached out and took the other man's hand in his own. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Don't..." Growing weaker by the second, Lancelot had to struggle to get the words out. "Don't blame yourself. Live, for my sake, and try to be happy. We'll meet again. I know we will. But until then... until then, don't waste your time on regrets. Life is too precious for that."

"Okay," Merlin said tremulously.

"One more thing. Gwen..."

"Yes?"

Lancelot struggled to keep his eyes open for just a moment longer, fighting to focus on Merlin's grief stricken features. "Do what you can to help her. Please."

"You know I will."

"Thank you."

And then with a sigh of relief, the dying man closed his eyes, using his last reserves of strength to lose himself in all the memories that had been denied him through Morgana's cruelty. His lips curved into a gentle smile, recalling each and every precious moment of a love that had never been about greed or possession, no matter how much his former mistress might have tried to twist it that way. No, his feelings for Gwen had always revolved around her well-being, her safety, her happiness... nothing had ever changed that, and no power in this world or beyond ever could.

His love for her was eternal, infallible, unbreakable. It went beyond life and death, deeper than the earth itself, more fathomless than the skies above. There was no beginning or end, and there never would be until he fulfilled the one promise he'd made to her with his entire soul.

"I would die for you 100 times over. Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing."

And so for the third time, Lancelot drew a final breath and welcomed death's sweet embrace, eagerly anticipating the next time he'd have the privilege of seeing his beloved Guinevere again.

**~ The End ~**


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